Domesticity
by 10462
Summary: Arthur is settling into a life with Eames. Arthur tolerates him because he's good to look at and makes brilliant french toast.


**Title: Domesticity **  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: Arthur/Eames  
Spoilers: Set during Inception. No obvious spoilery  
Warnings: Sneaky!Eames, Domestic!Arthur, Satin!Polyester, FLUFF  
Wordcount: ~900  
(its late and my beta is doing uni assignments ;D, no excuses!)

Summary: Arthur is settling into a life with Eames. Arthur tolerates him because he's sexy and makes brilliant french toast

Domesticity doesn't scare Arthur, in fact his opinion on the matter is quite the opposite. His strict guidelines on right and proper conform quite well to the idea of settling down somewhere nice, falling into a routine like a comfy pair of slippers on a cold night.

Arthur loves waking up at precisely five minutes past six, carrying the clothesbasket from the washroom to the laundry and setting about his various daily tasks. Usually this involves sweeping the floor, watering the pot plants and emptying the dishwasher - all before Eames was due to roll out of bed. It usually happened sometime between a quarter past and a quarter to eight, Arthur could never really be completely certain. Still, like clockwork it seemed, as soon as Eames' gruff voice and unhurried footsteps echoed down the hall, Arthur was adding the lightest dash of cream to a cup of steaming Earl Grey and pressing it into his lover's hands.

Eames's eyes light up as he kisses Arthur good morning, then expertly grabbing the skillet and taking over the breakfast preparations. Arthur is perfectly fine with this, as he's never been one for cooking. Of course, it helps that Eames cooks French toast to a golden crisp perfection and Arthur's never been one to complain about a three course dinner, especially when there is black forest cheesecake for desert.

In fact, Arthur had become so comfortable in this routine; he barely even noticed when things started to change.

At first, he only noticed the little things, like the subtle way that Eames actually started to take his dirty socks out of his shoes before leaving them by the front door. The shoes still stayed at the door though, soles encrusted in mud. One day he'll put them in the shoe rack, but for now, Arthur is just pleased that Eames is taking them off before he tramples it into the carpet.

A few weeks later, he notices that Eames' dress sense has improved dramatically. Instead of his default favourite salmon pink polyester monstrosity, he was wearing a very closely fitted sky blue dress shirt, lined with a subtle white pinstripe and his sleeves were rolled elegantly into the third quarter of his gloriously muscled arms. Arthur smiles arrogantly, thinking that good taste is catching after all.

After a few more months, he starts noticing the bigger things. Eames isn't bringing an overnight bag anymore and to be honest, Arthur can't really remember the last night Eames didn't stay.

One morning, after he has set the washing machine to light cottons, Arthur ducks back into his bedroom to grab a shirt before he takes his morning shower. His cold fingers gingerly slid open the wardrobe door in order to avoid waking the still sleeping Eames, only to be confronted with an entire cupboard full of garishly bright silk polyester blends.

***

Eames was awoken with a jolt as Arthur's ear splitting scream reverberated around the apartment. Within seconds he was pressed up against Arthur, pushing the younger man back into the wardrobe as he assumed a defensive position, clad in nothing but low slung white briefs and wielding a rather intimidating looking glock. Eames surveyed the room carefully before deciding the threat was no longer imminent. Turning around carefully, he discovered his nose pressed up against Arthur's, two eyes very obviously death glaring him.

"What. is. this." Arthur barely managed to maintain his restraint, each word punctuated by an undercurrent of rage. "Where. are. my. shirts."

"Darling, you just finished loading them into the machine." Eames looked puzzled by this sudden onslaught.

"I have to leave in 30 minutes, Eames. This is no time to play games," Arthur sighed. Eames always chose the worst times to be infuriating.

"I'm not! I'm absolutely serious. They are all bubbling their way through the detergent cycle as we speak. Listen close enough and you'll hear it," the last words were muttered into the blanket as Eames had crawled back into bed and brought the duvet cover up to tuck around his ears.

"There is no way that I have worn all those shirts in the past few days," Arthur sulked.

"Well let's see," Eames popped his head back above the covers as he began to list Arthur's weekly history in clothing.

"Monday:  
08:26 Shirt no. 1 covered in maple syrup. Not my fault.  
08:30 Shirt no. 2 worn to work as syrup stains deemed inappropriate.  
16:15 Shirt no. 3 was more appropriate for client interview than number 2.  
16:16 Shirt no. 4 because grey gave Cobb a headache..."

Eames was interrupted by Arthur clearing his throat.

"Ok, so last week was a bit more unfortunate than most in regards to wardrobe changes, but I know I have enough shirts to last at least a week of constant changing."

Suddenly, the realization dawned on Arthur and a very sheepish looking Eames retreated back under the bedcovers.

"When was the last time you wore one of *these* shirts, Eames."

The bed-lump was conspicuously silent.

Resigning himself to 62 minutes of the remaining wash cycle and only 16 to get ready, Arthur grabbed the least offensive print from the wardrobe and stormed off into the bathroom.

Eames was not going to be having sex for a very. long. time.

***

Later that morning, Ariadne and Cobb found Arthur hiding behind an overly large stack of papers on his desk.

"Go away, I'm busy." Arthur muttered, not that it made much difference.

Ariadne giggled as she peered around the corner of his desk, "So is your shirt."


End file.
